


Google Search: Bees As Murder Weapon

by jackotah



Series: Nothing Made Me [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Asperger's Sherlock, Autistic Sherlock, Bees, Ficlet, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Slow Burn, Stimming, Sussex, oh no they love each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 15:02:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5131952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackotah/pseuds/jackotah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Ah, bees again," he said, leaning down a bit to see more clearly. His palm came to rest on Sherlock's shoulder, and Sherlock turned his eyes toward the touch, half startled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Google Search: Bees As Murder Weapon

"Where did you find that?" John asked, peering over at Sherlock as he walked through the sitting room to the kitchen.

Sherlock's eyes were glued to the screen of his laptop as he worked a small blue cold pack full of gel beads, intended for injuries, in his fingers. "Freezer," he said simply.

John set the shopping on the worktop and returned to the sitting room to stand behind Sherlock. "Ah, bees again," he said, leaning down a bit to see more clearly. His palm came to rest on Sherlock's shoulder, and Sherlock turned his eyes toward the touch, half startled. 

His eyes flicked back to the screen. "Brilliant, John. How ever did you guess?"

"I don't guess," John retorted, and Sherlock huffed a small laugh.

A few minutes passed, John reading as much as he could despite Sherlock's quick pace, catching snippets of information on hives and smokers and supers, his eyes barely scanning pictures of various set ups before they scrolled away.

"Will we be keeping bees, then?" John asked, trying to imagine Mrs. Hudson's reaction.

"Should I find a suitable location for them, perhaps." Sherlock paused long enough to sigh, good nature seeming to drain from him as he placed the thawed cold pack on the table in a puddle of it's condensation.

John's brow furrowed, and he stood up a bit. "What's wrong?"

Sherlock was silent a moment, staring at his own hand over the cold pack, as if trying to determine exactly what _was_ wrong. "It's more enjoyable when it's cold," he said weakly, as if the words had been forced from him.

"Well that's an easy enough fix," John said, holding out his hand.

Sherlock's eyes cut to the side, studying the hand and then John's face with a touch of suspicion. Whatever he saw there seemed to suit, and he placed the tepid cold pack in John's hand. John wiped the water from the table with the corner of his jumper, and then headed for the kitchen.

When he returned, having exchanged the thawed one for the other frozen one he'd known he had somewhere in the freezer, Sherlock was sitting perfectly still, eyes closed. His hands were balled into tight fists, knuckles white, as if trying to fight some baser urge.

"Here," John said in a low tone, bending down to lean on the table with one forearm. Sherlock's eyes shot open, looking wild for an instant before he schooled them back to their usual blankness. When he didn't respond, John took Sherlock's hand from his lap and pressed the cold pack into it, an affectionate smile quirking at the corners of his mouth as Sherlock's eyes softened. John placed a dish towel on the table to the side of the laptop to catch the water, then came around behind Sherlock again, palm to the man's shoulder.

Sherlock's fingers had already begun working a pattern on the little round cold pack, shifting the beads along the edge first, spiraling slowly toward the center. Being frozen, the beads resisted a bit, and the warmth of Sherlock's hand began to melt the layer of frost over the outside.

"How much space do they require?" John asked curiously.

"Enough space for the hive and for the keeper to maneuver around it safely."

John raised his eyebrows in surprise. "So not much at all, really."

"Not necessarily, no." There was a pause, and then Sherlock added, "When we are in Sussex we'll have more than enough space for several hives."

"Oh, we're moving to Sussex, then?" John chuckled. "I ought to let the surgery know, I suppose."

"Yes it would be rather rude to give them less than 20 years notice," Sherlock quipped, then quieter, "It will take them at least that long to find a suitable replacement for their most brilliant doctor." His free hand reached up and hesitantly touched John's, still unsure how much contact was appropriate. "But I'm sure they'll understand: I would be lost without my blogger."

John closed his eyes, his smile broadening. "Lots of crimes involving bees over in Sussex?"

"I would imagine there's at least one every decade." Sherlock's free hand slid away, back to the laptop, where he opened another browser tab alongside the other 17 open ones and began to search for murders involving bees, the other hand still making good work of the cold pack.

"How on earth will I keep you from shooting the wall in boredom?"

Sherlock laughed then, and John longed to cup the laugh lines that deepened on those cheeks. As if on cue, Sherlock tilted his head, resting the side of his face against the top of John's hand and rubbing slightly. His warm breath tickled John's fingers.

"I'm sure you'll think of something, John."


End file.
